


Working for the British Government

by Yuval25



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Assistant, Canon Compliant, Crossover, Family, Gay, Harry is Mycroft's Assistant, Homosexuality, Humor, Intimacy, M/M, Magic, Mentions of Sex, Mild Smut, Mycroft IS the British Government, Not Epilogue Compliant, Romance, Sexual Situations, Slash, Smut, Spoilers, sherlock bbc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuval25/pseuds/Yuval25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter is working under the most important man in Britain (...sometimes literally).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> One of my better works. Please give constructive criticism! It's hard to come by, these days, for some reason.  
> This was inspired by the wonderful enchanted nightingale's work, "Name Confused." I recommend reading it.  
> Enjoy the story.

"Reschedule the meeting with James Finns to Thursday, three PM. Tell him I'm out of the country if he asks why," Mr. Holmes said in haste as he got out of the car.

"Done, sir. Anything else?" asked the black-haired assistant, fingers already typing the orders into the small, sophisticated mobile phone.

"Not at the moment." He shut the car's door.

"To the closest coffee shop, please," asked the assistant politely. The driver nodded and they were off.

Being Mycroft Holmes's personal assistant was not easy, despite the frankly ridiculous amount of free time. He often gave near-impossible orders and requests (as in, when he said 'Please' at the end of an order). The job consisted of high mathematical skills and organization skills. And brains, to be able to keep up with Mr. Holmes's busy schedule and figure out what he meant because sometimes he did not give the orders straight forwardly. Sometimes he gave them in codes. And his handwriting was awful, so deciphering it turned out to be quite a challenge.

But all in all, it was a very satisfying job. The payment was beyond anything you could find in London, Britain, the whole world, probably, and it was actually quite exciting, despite what people thought. Managing Mycroft Holmes was basically managing Britain, as the man was practically running the country.

In truth, Harry wasn't even sure how he got the job. He was vaguely aware of the circumstances that led to his acceptance. The former assistant died from cancer a few weeks ago. Mr. Holmes didn't even grieve, at least not outwardly. He immediately hired him.

Despite the formality, working for a man like Mr. Homes was very… private. Very close. The relationship was not all business. Harry's position was the most trusted of positions in Mr. Holmes's wide variety of employees. The personal aspect of the job could be anything from making him coffee to keeping him company in his bed. And, yes, that meant providing him with sexual relief. That part was only done out of free-will, though, as Mr. Holmes felt the obligation to mention. The intimacy was required to keep hormonal balance and Mr. Holmes did not trust many people to see him so vulnerable and not take advantage of that.

Harry was enjoying his job, though.

Yes, he was expected to become Auror. Yes, his friends didn't like him being away most of the week. Yes, his godson pouted when Harry told him he couldn't tell him where he was going. But it was all worth it. It wasn't like he wasn't seeing his family and friends. As was said, he had lots of free time to do as he wished. But a call from Mr. Holmes was not to be ignored and wherever he was he had to put his boss first.

After a quick stop to buy Mr. Holmes coffee, checking it for toxins and poisons along the way (Mr. Holmes had many, many enemies), Harry poured some of it into a small cup that was in the car for these occasions and tasted it, making sure there was no foreign taste in the drink that could be dangerous.

He dropped it off at Mr. Holmes's office, smiling at the man, who was clutching his hair over the latest big scandal he had to keep under a leash, in order to cheer him up. It never worked, but trying doesn't hurt, either.

"Thank you," said Mr. Holmes. Even his voice was troubled.

"Of course, sir. Is there anything else?" Harry asked. He couldn't walk out of the room before he was dismissed. That was one of the rules he had to follow.

"Yes," Mr. Holmes started. Harry took out his phone, "Pick me up from my meeting with Josh Barns at eleven PM. You'll be spending the night with me," Harry stopped. He put the phone back in his pocket and raised his eyebrows at the man.

They always had sex (most of the times there wasn't any sexual intercourse, but it was still sex) on Sundays. Always on Sundays. Today wasn't Sunday.

Seeing the look Harry was giving him, Mr. Holmes was quick to reassure, "Nothing too thorough. I just need to relax."

Harry nodded, noting that he should look up ways to make one's body relax. Massage could work, but Harry doubted he could give Mr. Holmes a proper massage without screwing it up. He wasn't very coordinated, and learning how to use his hands for something new usually took him a while.

"That's it?" Harry confirmed.

"Yes."

Harry nodded his goodbyes and walked out. He would have to let Andromeda know he couldn't visit Teddy tonight. It was a shame – Teddy had been waiting for his visit for some time now.

Three hours later, Harry was waiting for Mr. Holmes to leave the ridiculously tall building, where he had had a meeting with Mr. Barns. It looked like a gust of wind could make it topple down like a tower of Lego pieces.

And there he was. Tall, dressed in a business suit with an umbrella in hand. Harry never did understand what the deal with the umbrella was. It wasn't even raining. It couldn't be a fetish – it was Harry's job to know Mr. Holmes's fetishes for… Sundays. The image of a gruff half giant knocking down an old wooden door and setting fire with a pink umbrella popped into his head, and Harry smiled at the memory.

Mr. Holmes swung his umbrella up, as if to show it to Harry. "Is it a friend of yours?" he asked.

It took Harry a few seconds to understand that the man asked him if one of his friends owned an umbrella like this one. "A very good one," he answered wisely. Never give too much detail. Short answers. After all, Mr. Holmes didn't know something very important in the world as we know it. He didn't know the first thing about magic.

It might be surprising that a man like him did not know something so major, so big. The Statute of Secrecy covered the British government as well as the rest of the muggles, though, and Mycroft Holmes, despite his position and capabilities, was still a muggle.

Mr. Holmes got into the car and didn't even bother putting on a seatbelt. He looked at Harry and Harry knew it was going to be a long night. Mr. Holmes didn't look tired – he looked upset. The slight differences in the man's expression that defined his feelings (outside of Sunday's activities) were the first thing Harry learnt how to interpret. A by-passer wouldn't notice the way his brows creased slightly or the almost-not-there frown on his lips. The eyes held a spark of annoyance, and the cheeks were stern and tight.

They reached the house and the moment the doors were closed and locked Mr. Holmes became another person entirely. His shoulders slumped and he let out a frustrated sigh. He took off his jacket and tie and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. He put the umbrella aside and took off his shoes.

Harry discarded his shoes as well and took off his jumper.

And just like that, they became Mycroft and Harry. Mr. Holmes and Liam/Jasper/Leonard/Gregory/William were no more. Mycroft only ever called Harry by his real name when he was at his house. Outside, Harry had to change his name and sometimes appearance constantly to avoid being followed or recognized. It was to protect both himself and Mycroft. If someone were to know Harry's real name, his family would be in danger. There were a lot of people out there that didn't like Mycroft and wouldn't hesitate to threaten his assistant or his family if they had the chance.

"I'll make some tea," Harry said, making his way to the kitchen.

"Yes, you do that." Mycroft didn't even bother with niceties. He never liked them. That was also why they conversations always started with the point rather than beating around the bush for hours before getting to it.

Harry boiled some water and carefully made the tea. When he was satisfied with the result, he took the two steaming cups to the expensive couch where Mycroft was sitting. He looked like spaghetti. He was so… limp.

Harry laughed and set the cup on the small coffee table next to Mycroft's limp hand. Mycroft was glaring at the hand like it offended him.

"Just drink your tea. I have plans." Harry told him. He knew Mycroft was much more comfortable with schedule and he liked to know things in advance.

They drank the tea in silence. Harry was thinking of what he had planned. It wasn't very creative – a warm bath with a simple (very simple, as Harry didn't want to mess up and make matters worse) massage. Later, probably something to make him sleep soundly. Meaning – sex.

"I'm done," Mycroft announced when his cup was empty. Harry was no longer sipping, so he assumed he was done with his tea as well.

Harry nodded and took Mycroft's hand. He led him to the bathroom.

"Strip," he told him firmly.

Mycroft followed _his_ orders now.

He filled the huge tub with hot water. It wasn't going to burn whoever touched it, but it was warmer than warm. It would probably feel too hot at first but it would relax the muscles. The tub was very big. It was at the size of a small pool, at least. Harry was amazed every single time at the wealthy life the man was leading. At least he didn't live in a mansion. The house was bigger than a normal person's but it would be weird if a man with a 'minor post in the British government' lived poorly.

Now stark naked, Mycroft stepped into the tub and gasped at the temperature. He trusted Harry, though, and knew he would never do anything to hurt his physically or mentally. He sat down in the deeper water, leaving his shoulders and head above the surface.

Harry undresses as well and got in behind him.

"If something hurts too badly, tell me. It's supposed to hurt only a little and then the muscles should relax." Harry said, running his hands over Mycroft's back. "Your back is full of knots, so it's going to take a while. Better make yourself comfortable,"

He started working on the tight places, pressing and rubbing and when that didn't work pushing his thumb hard into the skin and then rubbing it slowly. All the while Mycroft was making the most… unique sounds. He was moaning and growling when Harry pressed too hard and sighing. Each time he sounded pleased, or pleasured, or whatever, Harry would grin in satisfaction.

By the time Harry got rid of all the tension in Mycroft's back, the water have gone cold. Harry told Mycroft to get out with a sigh and handed him a towel. He drained the tub and dried himself.

Then he led him to the bed.

Mycroft looked beyond tired at this point, and Harry decided the sex was better reserved for Sunday, as usual. He lay down next to Mycroft on the bed and drew the blanket to cover both of them.

Mycroft surprised Harry by taking him into his arms. Mycroft buried his head into Harry's black tresses and sighed.

Harry liked it there, in Mycroft's arms. It was warm and not lonely, which was just what he needed at the moment.

Mycroft turned his head a little and captured Harry's lips in a lazy kiss. Harry helped himself to some of Mycroft's tongue in return. The kiss ended when Mycroft fell asleep. Harry laughed quietly – he has never kissed someone to sleep before.

Harry closed his eyes, and sleep took over.


	2. Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wakes up on Monday with a sore body, and the British Government lying presumptuously behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So this is the continuation piece to Working for the British Government! I hope you enjoy it, and don't forget to leave a comment at the end!!  
> PS: don't be disappointed by the poor length of it, because there's more to come in the future of this story!

It was Monday. According to some people, Monday shouldn't exist. Others would claim it was a day of good fortune. To one Harry Potter, Monday was a pain in the ass. Literally.

He refused to open his eyes. He would not, under any circumstances, reveal his state of awareness to his companion. That was what he told himself repeatedly as heated hands raved over his body like flames, licking at his abdomen with ghostly fingertips. The man lying presumptuously behind him was most likely wearing his famous 'I know something you don't want me to know' smirk, judging by the tone of his breathing next to Harry's ear.

He struggled to keep his breath even as the fingers abandoned his upper body in favour of tracing down his thigh. He knew he had failed when he heard a chuckle from behind him.

"Mycroft," he groaned, in frustration or warning he couldn't tell.

The man got closer, making Harry _very_ aware of his need. "Just this once," Mycroft stated. It wasn't a plea or a request. If Mycroft says 'Jump', he asks how high. If Mycroft says 'Bend', he asks how low. And if Mycroft says sex… well, you get the point.

So in the end, Mr. Holmes was late for work. Being his own boss, he let it slide with a warning. Harry thought it was hilarious. Not that he could laugh right now. No, Harry was left to make errands with a twice sore behind and a very observant driver.

"Sunday, eh?"

"Shut up,"

Thinking about it, it really wasn't fair of him to snap at the driver like that.

Routine was tiresome.


	3. Mycroft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank my two awesome betas, pussycatadamah and CleopatraIsMyName from FF Net. The best betas one could ask for!!  
> Please enjoy and don't forget to leave a review at the end :) Here's some smutty goodness for you, people.

Mycroft's thighs felt cool under Harry's hands. The man has been out in the snow on some super-secret meeting with a Russian anonymous for longer than he could afford, leaving him shivering all throughout the drive to his house despite the thick coat and several luxurious items he kept on his person to keep him warm. They didn't work, obviously. Harry kept his fussing to himself while he treated Mycroft with a warm oil back massage to comfort the sleep-deprived man.

Mycroft sighed at the warm touch, leaning back further into the mattress and soaking in the heat of the room, which Harry made sure remained the proper temperature, if not a bit warmer to take off the edge. While Mycroft still had his pants and low-cut, oversized, long-sleeved shirt on (he resented the suffocating sensation regular-collar, well-fitted shirts gave him), Harry was completely naked apart from his glasses, which hung poorly on his nose in a position that just screamed they would fall off with the smallest nudge. Harry didn't bother to spell them to stick in their place – Mycroft, after all, didn't know about magic and Harry was damned if he would let its existence be exposed to the nosiest, most powerful and resourceful Muggle man in Britain. He might be Harry Potter, but there was a limit to what even _he_ could get away with.

Harry slowly climbed up Mycroft's body, making sure to keep a small distance between their bodies; he had learned that Mycroft enjoyed the teasing, and in any case at least he didn't squish him. He paused when his face was directly above the man's, taking time to study the calm breaths. Mycroft's eyes were closed, a show of trust that Harry didn't get very often from the man. It encouraged him to continue further.

Harry didn't do things half-way. When Mr. Holmes, all business-like and without a bit of shame, explained to him the voluntary part of the job, the part where he made sure Mr. Holmes reached an orgasm during their… sessions, Harry decided he might as well enjoy it. It was just what he needed – no domestic crap, no relationship drama, and no shit from the media. Just sex. And good sex, at that.

Harry noted the change in Mycroft's breathing when he started softly kissing his lips. From what Harry had learned about Mycroft's past (which is not a lot, mind you), the man had been deprived of any intimate or affectionate attention during his early life. It was really no wonder he was so desperate for human touch, though he barely showed it and outright denied it. He was so sensitive when it came to the little things, the ones that radiated emotion. Once, Harry had toyed with the thought of bringing him to the edge only with those small touches. He didn't dare to act on it, though. He didn't want to lose his job.

He started trailing kisses down Mycroft's neck and along the nearly straight line of his shoulder. He raised his head once more and then lowered it again for a much deeper kiss, drawing a low moan out of the man. He positioned his elbow better on the bed and leaned on it, leaving his right hand free to cover the body below him with slow, soft touches. Pinching a nipple, Harry relished in the contented sigh that Mycroft released, a sense of pride enveloping him. It was good to know that he was at least good at _something_.

At least, Mycroft seemed to think he was, because not even five minutes later Mycroft was panting, his eyes clenched shut and lazy beads of sweat trailing down the sides of his forehead while he clutched the sheet for dear life. Harry swallowed the sneaky drops of sperm at the corners of his mouth and raised himself to pat the man's slightly damp hair. He then stood up and left for the bathroom, returning soon after with a small, damp towel to wipe the sweat off the previously-clean man.

Mycroft's shirt had been nearly ripped off by the man himself, but Harry managed to pull it off his body before he had the chance to tear the cloth – Merlin knew he was capable of that. Harry texted the guards that he would be opening one of the bedroom's windows to let some air in, and left it open for ten minutes before closing it of fear that Mycroft might catch a cold. He wrestled the sleepy man into his shirt, almost getting stabbed in the eye by the man's pointy, horribly strong fingers. He turned on the air conditioner and turned back to Mycroft, who had already fallen asleep.

The man was currently curled under a bunch of blankets, which probably cost more than Harry's entire wardrobe, going by their unusual softness and lack of tag. It was probably made especially for the overworked man.

Harry had gotten an erection during their activities, so he helped himself to Mycroft's guest bathroom (which was not as enormous as his main one, but huge enough to house a small family) and turned the water cool to get rid of it. He couldn't be gone for long of fear that Mycroft might wake up and need him for something, as the job consisted of seeing to Mr. Holmes's _every_ need.

He spent the night in Mr. Holmes's spare bedroom, a shout away if the man needed anything. There was so much security around the house that Harry figured it was alright for him to be sleeping in the next room, and not in Mr. Holmes's bed.

After turning off the lights and snuggling deep into tag-less blankets, Harry pondered this certain aspect of his job. Mr. Holmes was one of those men who thought they could do everything, please everyone. As smart as he was, the man had yet to realize it was impossible. Still, he tried. The pressure of work piled up, and in the end it was Harry's job to relieve it. It was important. He was practically keeping Britain sane. A tired Mr. Holmes could probably function higher still than the average human being, but his potential was wasted on coffee cups and heavy work overload.

Sighing, Harry turned the pillow upside-down as it had gotten warm. Tomorrow he would go see Teddy and Andromeda, and pay a small visit to Ron and Hermione, and newborn Hugo. Predictably, Ron's Weasley genes worked their magic and Hermione found herself pregnant barely a year after they had Rose. Molly helped Hermione with her baby-girl, of course, but that didn't save Ron from the vicious hexes Hermione sent his way on her hormone-crazed episodes. Harry wondered with a chuckle how long it would be until the next Weasley would be born.

Perhaps he ought to make bets with Charlie again.


End file.
